There's something genuinely otherworldly about Karen Salicath Jamali's latest album Dreams of Angels. In a world where overproduced tracks dominate the airwaves, Jamali offers something radically different: pure, unfiltered communion with the divine through her 80-year-old Steinway grand piano.
In a world where overproduced tracks dominate the airwaves, Salicath offers something radically different: pure, unfiltered communion with the divine through her 80-year-old Steinway grand piano.
This isn't your typical new age fare. Salicath, who turned to music following a transformative near-death experience in 2012, approaches her instrument with the raw authenticity of someone who's glimpsed something beyond our earthly plane. Each of the album's 16 tracks unfolds in single, unedited takes, recorded at dawn when the veil between worlds feels thinnest.
The album opens with "ArcAngel Metraton," where Salicath's fingers dance across the keys with an almost supernatural grace. There's no studio wizardry here – just a Roland recorder, a Neumann microphone, and whatever spirits Salicath managed to channel that morning. The simplicity is stark, brave, and ultimately transcendent.
"Angel Raphael" might be the album's emotional center, building from whispered keystrokes to cascading waves of sound that feel less composed than discovered. Similarly, "Angel Michael" crashes through the speakers with the force of its namesake's flaming sword, while "Angel Sandalphon" offers moments of such delicate beauty that you'll find yourself holding your breath.
The standout track, "White Angel," awarded for its exceptional composition, reveals Salicath's background as a visual artist. Inspired by her sculpture of the same name, it paints sonic portraits of loss, love, and reunion. The piece achieves what most spiritual music only gestures at – a genuine sense of connection with something greater than ourselves.
What makes "Dreams of Angels" extraordinary isn't its technical complexity but its startling sincerity. Salicath isn't playing at spirituality; she's documenting her own encounters with the divine, one piano key at a time. Her dedication to capturing these moments without artifice – no editing, no overdubs, no safety net – creates an intimacy that's increasingly rare in contemporary music.
Some might dismiss this as mere meditation music, but that would miss the point entirely. Salicath's compositions challenge listeners to engage with something deeper than relaxation. This is music that demands presence, that asks us to contemplate our own relationship with the unseen.
In our cynical age, there's something refreshing about an artist willing to embrace the profound without irony. Salicath's stated hope that this album will help guide listeners to "inner peace, hope, and tranquility" might sound naïve if the music itself weren't so convincing. But it is convincing – devastatingly so.
"Dreams of Angels" serves as a reminder that sometimes the most powerful artistic statements come not from technical virtuosity but from absolute surrender to something larger than ourselves. In Salicath's case, that surrender has produced something truly extraordinary: an album that feels less like a collection of songs and more like a series of miracles captured in amber.
For those willing to listen deeply, "Dreams of Angels" offers something increasingly precious in our fragmented world: a moment of genuine transcendence. Whether you believe in angels or not, Salicath's piano speaks a language that reaches far beyond the merely physical, touching something essential in the human spirit.